The Minds of Men
by FeistyFeist
Summary: Darry deals with a lot. But he never expected to deal with something like this. One Shot


Sensitive subject matter.

Please read and review. Reviews = happy.

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Darry has plans.

For the first time in a long while he's going out tonight. Not with his brothers, not with the guys from work and not with Two-Bit and Steve. Darry has a date, with a "real, live woman," as Two-Bit puts it.

His mind on his date, Darry selects a rumpled white collared shirt from his closet. Dressy, yet not too business-like. Tugging on a pair of jeans, he makes his way into the living room where he sets up the ironing board, shirt slung over his shoulder.

The TV's been left on by Sodapop who's skulking somewhere around the house. Darry eyes Soda's remnants strewn around the living room with annoyance; a pair of mismatched shoes, his DX cap, a few car magazines and a deck of cards. Darry shakes his head and tries to focus on something besides cleaning for a change.

Darry's momentarily lost in Rachael – the girl he met at the grocery store a few weeks ago – when the TV finally sucks in his attention.

The local weatherman on channel five tells Darry that the weather will be cold and snowy for the weekend with a blizzard is possible. "It's mid-March but our weather is known for its predictability," the weatherman drones. Darry snorts, shakes his head and wonders if the snow tires Steve has put his truck on will do their job.

Darry flips his shirt over to press the creases out on the backside. He's bare-chested and pushes the iron a little faster knowing that if Soda or Two-Bit shows up he'll be heckled with "superman" and other muscle-geared jibes.

Then the weather is transitioning to the news and Brian Smith, the lead anchor, a chipper blonde man with a beard, is wearing an unusual somber face. "Berryhill Junior High Track Coach Robert Harris was arrested today on suspicion of inappropriate behavior with his students," Smith says. "A few boys, ages 13 and 14 have stepped up…"

Here, Darry tunes Brian Smith out, focusing on a photo that flashes across the screen. The camera zooms to a photo of Coach Harris – a dark haired man with a thin mustache and squinty eyes, locked in cuffs. Darry's stomach twists as he slips his still-warm shirt on. He wonders what is wrong with the world and the sick minds of men as he works the buttons on his shirt. Entering his bedroom, he stands at his closet trying to decide which shoes to wear – the brown loafers his mom had bought him or his work boots. A feeling of unease hits Darry and although he can't quite put his finger on it, something is wrong.

But Darry has plans and so he pushes the nagging feeling out of his head. Darry finds his wallet in the kitchen, sitting on the counter next to an open bag of chips. He stuffs the wallet in his back pocket and hollers for Sodapop. He can't remember and it's bothering the hell out of him.

Soda comes bounding up the basement steps. Seeing his brother dressed up Soda lets loose a wolf whistle. "What's going on Darry?" Soda's eyes are bright, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Where's Ponyboy?" Darry asks.

Soda gives him a bewildered expression. "You know about as well as I do. Somewhere over Arkansas about now."

Darry remembers. The track finals. He doesn't know why he'd suddenly forget something like this. His youngest brother coming back from Florida, the longest he's ever been away from home and out of the state no less.

Slapping Darry's shoulder, Soda says, "You're getting slow in your old age, Dar." Soda bolts as Darry makes a grab for him. Barely escaping Darry's tackle, Soda chuckles. "See? Told you so."

Darry laughs but he's unsettled by Soda's news. Because he knew where Ponyboy was and he just forgot. He doesn't know why he's done this. Darry always knows where his brother is. Always.

"When does his plane land?" Darry asks.

"Eleven." Soda waves away Darry's next question. "Don't you worry about it lover boy. Go on your date. I'll pick up the kid." He waggles his eyebrows and looks so mature his age. Frowning, Darry realizes his 18-year-old brother might be more experienced then he is.

Darry manages a grin and is out the door, leaving behind Soda's catcalls and the ill feeling in his stomach.

XXXXXX

It's Darry's fault. Rachael's great; she's nothing like anyone Darry's ever met yet he can't keep his attention on her. They walk down the strip, slurping on Cokes, and chatting about their families.

Their conversation, however, _isn't_ Darry's fault. He's tried to stay neutral, keep the conversation in Darry and Rachael territory; however Rachael has six brothers and sisters and sees fit to compare family business and sibling stories with Darry.

The strip is loud and bright. Neon lights greet those who walk the sidewalk. Couples stroll by, laughing and drinking from beers. Darry feels old, sipping on Coke, acting responsible, _not_ acting his age. Young kids, run by, causing a commotion, swearing and talking trash. Darry's glad he doesn't know half the things his brothers do.

Rachael tells him about her oldest brother Sam and finishes with her youngest sister Lois and stares at Darry, waiting for him to speak. She fluffs her light brown hair and sips her Coke.

Soda's the easy one. Darry could go on for hours about his crazy, middle brother. But he keeps it brief because it's better to meet Soda in person, to fully appreciate him. When the time rolls around to speak about his youngest brother, Darry's mind melts.

Because this time, Darry remembers.

Robert Harris had been the assistant track coach at Will Rogers High School not more than two years ago. Ponyboy's track coach to be exact. Darry's grip on his Coke slackens. Darry remembers Ponyboy briefly mentioning Coach Harris. His brother had been griping to Two-Bit about all the extra practices the coach had been giving the team.

Overhearing his complaints, Darry had chuckled and told his youngest brother that if he couldn't take a little hard work then maybe track wasn't for him. Ponyboy had stomped off with irritation. At the time Darry had been trying to knock a little sense into the kid.

He remembers all this and his stomach begins the churn. He sees Harris on the news, recounts the dirty deeds he's pulled with those young kids, young boys, _children really_, and Pony's face flashes in his mind.

Rachael shakes his arm. "Darry. Are you alright?"

He doesn't want to but he can't help it. He can't keep it in any longer. Darry puts a hand to his mouth and stumbles over to a trash can. His right hand grips the tin container, propping himself up. Under the bitter yellow glow of the streetlamp, surrounded by his date, Darry pukes his guts out on the curb. A few guys walk by and laugh, asking him if he's too drunk to drive and if they need to call his mommy to drive him home.

XXXXXX

Darry pauses on the porch. He's dropped Rachael off; she left him with an icy shoulder and a clipped goodbye. He doesn't care. He has more important things to deal with.

Inside the house, Soda is sprawled out on the couch, a car magazine draped across his chest. Steve's in Darry's recliner, watching the TV and telling Sodapop about his day at work. They both look up as Darry enters.

"How was the date?" Soda asks. Seeing Darry mute, Soda props himself up on his elbow. "That bad?"

Steve raises a sympathetic eyebrow. "Evie knows a coupla cute girls. The kind that don't talk too much." He smiles wolfishly.

"Where's Pony?" Darry ignores them.

Soda's face falls. "His plane was delayed. There's a blizzard in Arkansas. Won't be in until tomorrow." His eyes drift to the TV where the ten o'clock weather is being recounted: It's March and it's still snowing in the Midwest. Darry's familiar with it all. He knows what will come next. Robert Harris.

Soda notices his brother's face. "Dar…? What's –"

Darry leaves the room without an explanation, hoping Soda doesn't put the connection together.

XXXXXX

Darry tosses in his sleep.

_He never touched Ponyboy. _

_Pony would have told me._

_Stop it Darry_, he thinks before drifting off.

XXXXXX

The next morning Darry awakes to silence. He realizes Soda has gone to get Ponyboy and is left with a myriad of questions on his tongue and sickness in his gut. Darry busies himself with the dishes, the laundry, until Two-Bit shows up and manages to remind Darry what a loser he is for doing work only the stupid would do on their day off.

Two-Bit sighs and rubs his palms on his jeans. "I can't believe he won the goddamn thing." He grins with a pride Darry feels.

It's been a week and they have only heard from Ponyboy once. He'd managed to call Soda from a fuzzy pay phone and shout that he'd won. They barely heard him above all the background noise but they watched it on the news. Ponyboy raced through the finish line like his shoes had been lit on fire. Soda had screamed, jumping up and down on the couch. Two-Bit screeched like a banshee and spilled his beer down the front of his shirt. Darry finished watching Ponyboy on TV and then promptly left the room, leaving the two idiots to clean up the mess.

An hour later, the front door bursts open. Darry and Two-Bit stick their heads out of the kitchen to see a long-legged Ponyboy Curtis run in. The kid's tan from head-to-toe, courtesy of Florida. His arms and legs are leaner than Darry's ever seen them. Pony's practically bouncing around the room; Soda has his arms crossed looking at his youngest brother with amusement. Steve throws Ponyboy's bags on the floor but he's grinning too.

Before Darry can get to him, Two-Bit swoops the kid up. "Look at you!" Two-Bit crows. "The big hero of Tulsa has come back to grace us with his presence!" Two-Bit ruffles his hair and Pony wiggles out of his grasp, patting his hair back in place.

Surveying the house Ponyboy laughs. "It's good to be home," he announces. He seems younger than he was when he left; his face glowing with eagerness, an innocence that catches Darry off guard.

Ponyboy gives Darry a crooked smile, approaching him shyly. "Hey Darry."

"C'mere kiddo." Darry's surprised to find he's hoarse and hugs his brother harder than he ever has before. "Congratulations." After a moment, he releases Ponyboy from his vice-like grip.

"Glory Dar," Steve says, "it's only been a week. Get a grip." They all laugh, except Darry who watches the youngest closely.

XXXXXX

Darry corners Ponyboy later that afternoon. "Pone."

Ponyboy's unpacking, tossing shirts into his dresser drawer and bundling socks together. "Hey Darry. How was the date?"

Darry blinks. Ponyboy smiles. "Yeah, I heard about it. Soda and Steve practically broadcast it over the television." As he says, television, the smile on Pony's face disintegrates. "Soda told me," he shrugs.

Darry finds his voice. "What're you going to do with your trophies?" He nods at the three gold statues lying in a pile on the floor.

"Put 'em on the mantle." Pony's grinning again. "Make Steve jealous."

Darry sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He can't chuckle. "Pony, I need to talk to you."

"I can't Dar." Pony's gathering a load of books in his arms. "I have to be at the track in ten minutes."

"It can wait," Darry says. "You just got home."

Pony raises an eyebrow. "It really can't. The scouts are gonna be there today." He's still got a week of spring break left and already the kid's back at school.

"I'll drive you then."

Ponyboy shrugs on a jacket. "I got to run. Coach'll kill me if I'm late." Ponyboy hesitates in the doorway. "Is everything okay?"

_No. No it isn't,_ Darry thinks. Instead, he relents. "Go on. I'll talk to you later."

Pony shoots Darry a grateful glance. "Thanks Darry."

XXXXXX

Ponyboy eludes Darry for two days. He's at the library or track practice or shooting pool with Two-Bit. And Darry has work, the gym and the bills to deal with. But he still can't put it out of his head. The news has slowly forgotten about Robert Harris but Darry hasn't.

He watches his youngest brother smile at one of Two-Bit's jokes, scowl at Steve's banter and Darry wonders if he's hiding anything. Darry prays to God he isn't but his heart loses a beat from time to time.

Two nights after he's been home, Ponyboy strolls in. He slams the door shut behind him and bypasses Darry with a, "Spaghetti ok?" It's his night to cook.

Looking up from his book, Darry manages a nod which Ponyboy can't see. Pony's in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt, his cheeks flushed from his latest run. His long hair is sticking up in messy spikes and his green eyes gleam victory. Pony's never been the least bit cocky before but Darry's proud to see he finally owns up to his talent.

The kitchen's thick with the smell of tomato sauce and garlic bread. Darry wraps his hands around the back of one of the chairs. "How was the run?"

Pony stirs the sauce. "Good. Almost got ran down by a Mustang, but other than that, nothing unusual."

Darry takes a breath, unsure of how to begin. "So…other than that, has anything else ever happened to you at track practice?"

Confused, Pony wrinkles his brow. "Well once Tom McGuire accused me of rigging a race. And once he tied my shoelaces together right before a run." His face darkens at the memory. "Lousy bastard."

Darry doesn't have a chance to scold his swearing. Ponyboy tastes the sauce and holds a spoonful out to Darry. Darry shakes his head. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

"My favorite color is blue?" He offers with a blank face.

"You know what I mean Ponyboy."

Ponyboy gives in, groaning. "I saw the news in Arkansas. I knew what you'd think."

Darry's desperation begins to claw at him. "What happened." It's not a question.

"Nothing happened, Darry." Pony's eyes greet the floor, his long hair falling in his face.

"_Pony_."

"_Really, Dar_." Pony looks up.

"But you _remembered_ him." Darry grips the chair painfully.

"I _recognized_ him. There's a difference."

"Ponyboy," Darry nears begging, "Tell me. _Just_ _tell_ _me_." God how he wishes his parents were here. He's never wanted them as bad as tonight. Darry doesn't know how he'll handle this if Ponyboy says yes, something did happen, but he needs to know.

"Nothing." Ponyboy has wedged himself against the counter, the stirring of the spaghetti sauce forgotten. "Ever."

Darry wants to get this right, ingrain it into his memory. The spaghetti sauce is making him nauseous and he wonders if he'll always associate it with this conversation. "Are you sure?"

Pony's voice is flat. "Yes. Believe me I would have remembered something like that."

Darry stares at him, debating whether to press the issue. Then, the fist around Darry's chest releases. "Okay," he says, relinquishing his grip on the chair. _Thank God. Thank God_.

Pony nods, his eyes darting down to Darry's white knuckles. The front door slams. Pony jumps and picks up the spoon, holding it like a torch. It's Sodapop declaring his hunger and his frustration with girls and carburetors.

Darry wishes for Soda's worries but just as he's underestimating his brother, Soda stops dead in his tracks. He looks from Ponyboy to Darry. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing," Ponyboy says all too quickly. He stirs the sauce once more, dumps the pasta into the boiling water and excuses himself from the room.

XXXXXX

Soda takes a breath and fans his fingers out on the table. Darry has just told him about Harris. "I'm gonna be sick." He drops his head and smashes his face into his hands. A few minutes pass, the only sound Soda's deep breathing and the boiling water on the stove.

When he raises his head, Soda's pale. He glances at Darry. "Do you believe him?"

Against his better judgment, Darry is honest. Darry tells Soda no, he doesn't believe him.

XXXXXX

From a distance, there's a small figure on the bench, lacing up his tennis shoes. Snow's still falling, giving the morning an innocence that should not be. Darry approaches and Ponyboy looks up in surprise. "What're you doing here?"

"It's about yesterday."

Ponyboy stays calm. "Aw, Darry, what're you talking about. I told you—"

"No," Darry says, "you didn't. Despite what you like to think, I know you kiddo. I know when you lie." White snowflakes fall onto Pony's lashes.

Ponyboy winces and says, "I wasn't lying." He tries to smile. "I was _withholding_." He rubs his bare hands together, warming them.

"That's not funny." Darry takes a seat on the bench, his palms beginning to sweat. Rage builds within him. "What did that guy do to you?"

"Nothing." At Darry's doubtful eyes, Ponyboy curses, "Damn it Darry, I swear."

The brothers stare at each other and then finally Pony sits beside Darry. He doesn't face him, instead choosing to stare out into the blowing snow.

"I knew something was wrong. Harris was…" Ponyboy pauses. "…He was off. He was always talking weird, acting like a creep. I just didn't think it was a big deal." Pony coughs into his hand. "At least then."

Darry waits for it; the worst thing his brother could say and then Ponyboy speaks again. His voice is slow, discombobulated. "Harris asked me to stay after one day, to meet him in his office to go over the drills. And I told him no because I knew you'd be upset if I was late."

Pony's hands are bright red and he breathes his hot breath into them. He turns to look at Darry. "That's all Darry." Pony's face is twisted into a mask of pleading and exhaustion. "That's all that ever happened."

Exhaling, Darry's muscles loosen up, the rage and fear slowly dissipating. "That's good, Ponyboy." Darry doesn't think he'll ever be able to put in words just how relieved he is. _How_ _thankful_.

Ponyboy shifts and says, "But Darry, I think I knew then…somewhere deep down. I just didn't know if I was right. It was just a…feeling. And then Harris left and I forgot all about it." Ponyboy stares into the snow and shivers. "Those poor kids. I should have told someone."

Darry tugs on Pony's shirt. "You were 14. You didn't know. You were dealing with a lot back then." He searches his brother's eyes. "He's a sick son of a bitch but it's not your fault."

"I know that."

But Darry wonders if he really does. On closer examination, Pony's been a mirror image of Darry for the last few days. Quiet, tired, dark circles shading his eyes. As Darry well knows, guilt does funny things. Darry places a hand on Pony's back and rubs a slow circle. Ponyboy leans into him.

Then Two-Bit's rolling up in his truck, no doubt told by Sodapop to find them. He shouts a greeting and reaches over to open the passenger's side door. The Rolling Stones blare from Two-Bit's shoddy speakers. "Get your asses in here," he hollers. "I'm freezing and you're letting all the heat out."

Pony gives the truck a suspicious look. "He doesn't have heat." They rise from the bench but before they climb into Two-Bit's cab, Darry clasps Pony's shoulder, stopping him.

"I'm proud of you, Ponyboy."

Ponyboy smiles. "I know that too."

XXXXXX

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